


home and somewhere else

by fatiguedfern



Series: hideaway [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Domestic fluff that isn't exactly fluff, Implied spoilers, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 02:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12159639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatiguedfern/pseuds/fatiguedfern
Summary: Kaito wakes to an empty apartment.





	home and somewhere else

Kaito wakes to an empty bed left without any residual warmth and a building panic.

Padding through the small doorways of their single bedroom apartment, he calls out his roommates’ names. No one replies. 

The kitchen’s no less tidy than usual, with dirty dishes in need of washing stacked high besides the basin. A mug brimming with white foam is placed precariously close to the edge of the counter across from the heaped plates and cutlery. The coffee’s undoubtedly Shuuichi's doing. Beneath the mug a stained note acts as a flimsy coaster. _Gone out_ , it reads with a string of shaky doodles that follows. And the note’s undoubtedly Ouma's doing, then.

He chugs the luke-warm coffee and places the emptied mug close to the stacked dishes and crumples the note into his pocket. Weaving past the couch, and onto the balcony, Kaito knots his fingers and pulls ‘till he hears a dull crack sound from his knuckles.

The sun falls until it's sunken below the clustered cityscape, casting a dusty coral light through polluted clouds and onto the unevenly tiled floor. 

Slippers squeak as they’re dragged across the tiles. The glass balcony door clatters back into its frame with the push of the late afternoon breeze. 

Kaito presses close to the railing, patterned toes slipping beneath the metal bars and poking over the rooftop’s ridge. With movement that might've been mistaken as fluid if not for the hitch in his grunt, he hoists himself onto the railing. He laces his legs through the gaps between rods and around the metal itself.

For once, he’s happy that he’s left alone with the echoing silence within the apartment. If Shuuichi were there he'd softly berate him with eyes still stretched wide from the momentary panic of seeing him teetering so close to the the edge. He’d tell him that he should get down before he hurt himself. And Ouma, well, he wouldn't be all too surprised if Ouma pushed him from his perch and laughed as he splats into the alley below. 

That isn't entirely true, he knows somewhere buried deep beneath layers of faux disdain. Both himself and Ouma would sooner dive from the rooftop themselves than push the other, but there's a sense of familiarity and routine within their half-hearted animosity. 

Some days - most days - he wonders why Shuuichi puts up with them. Shuuichi’s a nice guy. The decent sort that holds the door for the frumpled elderly. And Ouma and himself? Both liars, however drastically they may differ in skill, and fallen prey to their failings.

And then he remembers looped film playing a voice similar to Shuuichi's own, and the little lies he slips them during breakfast and doses his own tea with. He isn't nearly as befuddled after being reminded. 

He’s never been great at keeping time, but he can't help but keep track of the seconds spilling into disuse. Patience had never been a virtue he’d been well acquainted with, so surely it was reasonable for his hands to wring restlessly and unease to knot in his stomach. 

He lifts his head from its position lain on his chest. The alleyway sloping into the city streets suddenly seems a steeper fall than before, its tall brick walls stretching out until the streetlamps distort into muted yellow pinpricks. 

Dusk creeps in, consuming twilight’s half-lit gloom. Watercolour painted skies darken with bleeding hues of orange. The entrance door remains bolted.

Kaito considers rifling through their sock drawers to find the phone that he’d long since discarded, but he can’t place a number to familiar names and it’d be no use.

There's a rattling behind the door. Keys are hurriedly fitted into the keyhole and the door scrapes open. Kaito’s shoulders sag with what he thinks to be relief. 

Shuuichi's the first to re-enter. One hand clutches a plastic bag packed with as much microwaveable ramen as he could probably fit, the other held between Ouma's own.

Seeing Ouma consent to any sort of physical touch is always a shock in itself after the blatant apathy laced with discomfort he’d first shown at the slightest of honest contact, let alone for him to initiate it. But it isn't enough for Kaito to forget their sudden leave of absence.

“Oi, where’ve you two been?” Kaito calls from his dangling perch atop the railing. 

“Eh, didn't Momota-chan read my note? I knew expecting you to actually be able to read was too much...”

Kaito puffs out an indignant huff, leaning forward to flick Ouma's forehead. His palm - greased in sweat - slips from its grip on the railing and he flails. 

Ouma lunges forward, grabbing onto Kaito's shirt and steadying his flailing form with what little strength he has. It's enough.

The teasing glint’s snuffed from Ouma's eyes. “Can you not act like a reckless idiot all the time?”

“Y-yeah, whatever. Thanks.” Kaito’s words taste dry. 

They stay on the balcony. Ouma dangles his arms over the railing, reaching for the lights below. Kaito grips onto his perch until his knuckles bleach.

Shuuuichi appears, doorway framing his shoulder as he slouches against it and baseball cap discarded. “I heated up some ramen if either of you are hungry?” He turns back to the kitchen, sparing them a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, and Momota-kun, please get down from there. You might fall.”

 

Ouma holds up his chopsticks and lets the noodles spiral down, pouring into the frail plastic cup. His eyes fixate on the TV-screen, staring at red-coded news of a world beyond their own.

Kaito pretends to not notice Ouma's lack of appetite, nor Shuuichi's silent coaxing. He shovels another clump of noodles into his mouth.

“So,” Kaito gulps down the grinded mouthful, “anyone recognise you?” 

Shuuichi sets down his cup on the coffee table. “No, not this time.” Shuuichi offers him a strained smile. “Sorry about leaving you here. We thought you could use the sleep.”

“Huh,” Kaito snorts, “Most people don't think to leave someone to sleep till five in the afternoon.”

“And most people don't spasm awake every hour,” Ouma chips in.

Kaito stabs his chopsticks into his half-empty cup.

Weakly clearing his throat, Shuuichi speaks, “Oh, and before I forget, we got you something.”

Kaito cocks an eyebrow in questioning and Shuuichi scuttles off to retrieve whatever it is that they’d procured before he gets the chance to ask.

Shuuichi fumbles at the electricity socket. He returns with trailing wire and a square lamp. Cautiously, he places the lamp at the centre of the table.

“What exactly am I looking at?” He stares down the object to no avail. Ouma leans over and flips the switch on. 

Light floods from the lamp. A scrap of the Milky Way is reflected onto their sunken roof. 

Kaito's breath hitches at the sight, but these aren't the pixelated eyes crafted from burning gas that’d peered down at him while he’d been shot up into grace and then fallen out of it.

No, this was a map of constellations forged from glowing bulbs and good intentions, or so he assumes.

He spends the night pointing out constellations and stars and relaying every implanted memory he has of them. Shuuichi listens with rapt attention and Ouma listens carefully under the guise of boredom.

Kaito wakes the next morning with a kink in his neck and his arms spread wide over the floor. Two bodies curl into his sides.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to those who caused this


End file.
